


Intended effects

by Fox_Pause



Series: Tumblr prompts! [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Cabin Fic, Cuddle, Derek Feels, Derek Hale Has a Nice Day, Derek Has Issues, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Derek and Stiles Cuddle, Derek heals, Derek is Derek, Derek is a Failwolf, Fox Stiles, Healthy Relationships, Hermit Derek, Magic, Magic-Users, Magical Accidents, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Misunderstandings, Multi, Mysterious Deaton, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Promises, Protective Derek, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, WOO, keeping secrets, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-10 21:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5601388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Pause/pseuds/Fox_Pause
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's been hiding away for months now. Not just days, or even weeks. Months. He's moved way past healing whatever wounds he thinks validates deserting the pack, and is now heading straight into hermit territory.  </p>
<p>Stiles won't let that happen. Not while he's still alive and kicking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Based on this Tumblr prompt<br/>Prompt: I want a Fox!Stiles fic where Derek has become a hermit and Stiles usues his fox form to get him to re-join the pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Derek's been hiding away for months now. Not just days, or even weeks. _Months_. 

He's moved way past healing whatever wounds he thinks validates deserting the pack, and is now heading straight into hermit territory.  

Stiles won't let that happen. Not while he's still alive and kicking.  

The pack however, have. Given up, that is. Although they did try valiantly initially. 

They began by sending Derek worried texts –to which no response was offered, eventually progressing to actually using their blessid werewolf senses to track him deep into the forest, to his little cabin carefully tucked away in the preserve. They tried to break in twice, failing miserably both times. Of course Derek lost it when he found them mangling his door (the one he'd just replaced) in another attempt to break in. And well, after he shooed them away with more force than necessary they just stopped trying as hard, resolving to keep him as healthy as they could, by dropping small bundles of food on his porch.  

But this is the longest period of time Derek's ever spent away from the pack, and Stiles beginning to worry for Derek's mental health.  

Stiles tried to follow Scott's advice. To stop thinking about Derek, how horrible it must feel to be alone in those old woods for days at a time. Scott tries to tell Stiles that eventually, Derek'll get himself out of his funk. He tries to tell Stiles (repeatedly) that there's nothing they can do for him anymore - besides dropping in with food every other day. But Stiles just can't get Derek out of his head. There's just something about the way he's isolated himself that has Stiles' instincts telling him to _findhurtfriend_ and _makebetter_ _._ Plus, Stiles has never been good at following orders. 

So, when Stiles went to Deaton for help, the man only smiled at Stiles softly and nodded with an odd gleam in his eye. He seemed to understand Stiles' insistent need to protect his friends. Deaton silently walked around the room, preparing a spell intended to bring the hermit out of his shell and back to the pack. Stiles watches as Deaton ambles around the clinic for what seems like forever, eventually returning to Stiles with an old piece of paper and a sack of what looks like glitter. Stiles, unable to stop himself, promptly dips his fingers into the glitter, waving them before his face, watching as the small pieces reflect the fluorescent lights of the clinic. Deaton waits until Stiles notices his staring, dropping his hands to his sides like a scolded child and promptly gets up to leave. Deaton stops Stiles with a stern hand on his shoulder, telling Stiles that if he were to perform the ritual, to should do it alone and understand that the magic takes its time to work. He levels Stiles with a stern look until Stiles nods his head slowly, trying to solve Deaton's cryptic hidden meaning.  

Hopefully, that explains why Stiles is here now. Why he's standing stark naked in the middle of the preserve with nothing more than an incantation held gingerly between his fingers and some glittery dust fisted in his palm.  

Once he's steeled himself against the elements, he begins to read the ancient Latin aloud, eyes glowing white as his spark responds to his request for the power to save his friend. The words burn as he reads, a flame sweeping across the page, eating words already spoken. He throws the dust in the air as he punctuates the last word heavily, believing that he has enough power to save Derek from himself. The dust circles around him, turning to sparks that burst against his skin lightly, before sticking to him, morphing into a fire that grows with each new breath he takes.  

The fire envelopes him as he screams, his oxygen supply cutting off abruptly as the fire consumes _everything_ around him. He struggles for breath, crumbling to the ground in a heap as his world fades from flames, to nothing.  

- 

He wakes some time later, dust tickling his nose. He's face down in the dirt, which is so not helping the dust situation. His guesses his arms are folded beneath him, but he can't actually see the rest of his body. That damn glitter got everywhere.  

He moves to get up, wincing as a sharp pain blossoms in his head. He must've hit his head pretty hard when he fell. He blows some of the glitter away, watching it fall from his body in small puffs, leaving tall strands of hair -no- fur in its wake. The fuck? 

His eyes widen as he watches bright red fur erupt form where his beautiful, pale skin should be. 'This can't be happening' he thinks as he goes to run a shaky hand through the fur, but can't. His limbs are much too short.  

He looks down and can't help the scream/yip that rips through him. 'Where the fuck did my feet go, and who do these belong to?' There are two black paws right where his feet should be. He rubs them together and gasps at the sensation. It feels friggin amazing. He turns in a tight circle and sees, only for a second, a fluffy red tail tipped with white. His eyes narrow as he mentally clicks the pieces into place.  

Deaton. Spell. Magic. Blackout. Fox.  

Deaton's spell wasn't intended for Derek, it was intended for him. For some reason unknown to Stiles, Deaton wanted to turn him into a fluffy, small, red fox.  

A thought strikes him. 'Maybe Deaton wanted to get me out of the way. That's why the man actually cracked a smile for once.' God, Stiles was so stupid. He'd just waltzed right into the veterinarian's office, asked for a spell and wham! He'd fallen right into Deaton's evil clutches.  

He huffs, wondering what to do next. He can’t talk like this. If he went to the pack, they'd take him straight to Deaton, which is probably _exact_ _ly_ what the druid wants. But, if he doesn't go to anyone, how the fuck is he supposed to change back. Plus, it's unsafe in the preserve. Not to mention that this new perspective is really fucking disorientating. From this height, he can’t see any of the landmarks he once used to navigate the preserve. In short, he's fucked.  

But he just sit here doing nothing. So, Stiles makes a mental plan. Find the nearest place and hide out until he can think of a better plan. 

The plan could, admittedly, use some work.  

He begins his trek through the preserve, watching as his paws automatically navigate through the forest litter, finding a safe path to wander. He's fascinated by the way the dust clouds out beneath his paws as he steps. He stops, placing his paw in the dust carefully, leaving a perfect paw print behind, marvelling at how the dust falls away easily from the pad of his paw. In fact, he finds it so fascinating, he stays for quite a few minutes, just lowering and raising his paw in the dust. Eventually, a snapping twig in the distance reminds him of his task, and he continues along his path

* * *

 

**NOTES**

**This one is a little different. GOSH DANG! its been so long since I've written Fox Stiles!, so give me a little while to get used to writing this, yeah? **

** Anyway, I know you probably see this all the time, but I'm currently accepting prompts of all shapes and sizes, so send me a message [here](http://fox-pause.tumblr.com/) to have yours written. **

**I promise I'm not that weird. I'm just excited. **

 

**As per usual, If you liked my writing make sure to leave a kudos, or a comment if you REALLY liked it. **

**HAPPY NEW YEAR PEEPS**

**⁙ ⁚ ⁛ \\(｡ ◕‿◕｡) / ⁚ ⁛ ⁙**

** (love you all) **


	2. Chapter 2

Derek has never before seen a fox so... well, to put it simply, stupid. He watches as it stands still, completely unaware of his presence, lifting its paw and placing it back in the dust with care before repeating the action again. Derek think's it might be injured. Normally, he wouldn't watch his prey for this long, but with all the food the pack's been delivering lately, he's not actually hungry at all. He approaches the stupid little fox carefully, ears pinned back so he isn't easily spotted. He pauses as the fox lets out a happy huff, pleased with itself, before continuing his stalking towards the fox. He accidentally snaps a small twig beneath his paw, shrinking in on himself as the fox searches for the source of the noise. Once it's sure there's no danger in the forest, it continues along the small trail.  

Derek follows the fox from a safe distance away, watching as it stops every now and then to sniff a flower. After a lot of pointless wandering around the preserve, the fox, Derek realizes, has no idea where it's going.  

- 

Stiles has no fucking clue where he is. He was pretty sure he recognized a tree like, a whole mile back, but then he turned a left, and a right, and now he's the complete opposite of where he should be. On top of that, he's pretty sure someone's following him. Every now and then, his fur will poof up as a shiver runs down his spine that while he was human, meant a predator was lurking nearby.  

Its not exactly a comforting thought. 

He continues along his path, keeping an ear out for the mystery stalker behind him, his pace only _slightly_ quicker.   

Eventually, he recognizes a narrow gravel road that should lead to Derek's and begins to sprint to the safety of the cabin.  

Running as a fox is _not_ easier, Stiles decides as he stumbles the last few steps to the door of the cabin. He collapses on the porch in a heap, scratching lightly at the door with what little energy he has left, before succumbing to unconsciousness. Man, being a fox really takes it out of you.  

- 

When Derek finally, _finally_ gets back to his cabin, he's just a tad surprised at who he finds crumpled in the doorway.  

That dammed fox.  

- 

Stiles is being lifted, and woah, that hasn't happened in years. Not since his dad would lift him from the couch to his bed (Stiles still insists it was a rare form of teleportation that only occurs during childhood). Large, muscly arms wind tightly around him as he squirms, almost to the point of being painful. He squeaks as the ground becomes further away. Stiles watches helplessly as he sees the cabin shrink back behind the trees. Whoever's carrying him is taking him away from the cabin and back into the preserve, much further than before.  

He lets out a frustrated yip as the man sets him down gently on a fallen log, having undone all of his progress. The man mutters something that sounds a lot like 'stupid fox' and hey, Stiles is totally just getting used to this whole fox thing, ok? Give him some time.  

As the man steps back, Stiles gets a good look at his familiar face. He's got that trademark stubble running the length of his jaw and eyes that seem endless, even in his current colourblind state. That man, is also Derek Hale.  

The one person he can trust to keep him safe until he works out what to do next. There's no chance he'll leave his little cabin to turn him in to Deaton, and giving his current 'no verbal contact with the pack' rule, Stiles doubts he'll be handed over.  

It's perfect. 

As Derek turns back onto the trail leading back to the cabin, Stiles hops off the log. He runs up to Derek, threading himself between the older werewolf's legs as he walks, causing Derek to flail slightly.  

"what the fuck?" Derek catches himself on a nearby tree branch, giving Stiles a look like he's gone crazy. He shakes his head lightly, eyebrows progressing further and further down the werewolf's face. Pretty sure, Derek'll have a moustache.  

Stiles gives a happy yip, yet again threading himself through Derek's legs. He wags his tail once his's done, happy Derek smells like him, panting happily the whole time. Derek just looks confused and only slightly disgusted.  

"What are yo-?.." Derek kneels down in front of Stiles, green eyes boring into Stiles' whiskey ones. "Do I know you?" Stiles takes advantage of Derek's position, putting his two front paws onto Derek's shoulders, licking all over Derek's face. Derek scrunches up his face, gently pushing Stiles off him. "I'll take that as a yes, then" Derek stands, rolling his shoulders as he does so. He looks down at Stiles again, who's sitting back on his hunches, ears swiveling like radars, with a heavy glare. Derek gestures to the preserve once Stiles' ears return to normal "Why are you here?" Stiles ducks his head. In a more heated tone, Derek asks "Are you in trouble? Is someone trying to hurt you?" Stiles winces at Derek's choice of words, but other than that, keeps steady eye contact with the wolf. He nods his head once, and the wolf sighs.    
 

"I guess you can come with me." Derek mumbles to himself as he leads Stiles back to the cabin, while Stiles tries his best to commit their path and any landmarks to memory, so he doesn't get lost in the future.  

When they finally get back to the cabin, night is just beginning to fall over the preserve in a hushed silence. Derek opens the heavy wooden door for him, and Stiles can't help but sigh as the familiar environment of the cabin washes over him. He glances around the small cabin, which was clearly not made to be lived in long term. Over at the far wall is a fireplace tucked into the red bricks, with a single green armchair strategically placed in front of it. On the other two walls surrounding the fireplace, are two bookshelves, bustling with books. If Stiles had human hands, he'd guess that none of them were thinner than his two favorite fingers pressed together; his middle and pointer. The entire room is flickering in the glow of the fire's light, casting wild shadows on the roof which, hey, is a lot lower than it's supposed to be. Stiles glances around and notices a ladder, pressed tightly against the wall. He looks back to Derek, who's still standing behind him, gauging the foxes reaction to his little hideaway.  

Stiles tilts his head towards the ladder in a silent question. - 'what's that for?'. Derek doesn't get it. Stiles trotts over to the ladder, lifting a paw and pointing his nose to the ladder in question, tilting his head again. Derek's brows lift when he finally gets it, striding over to the ladder and looking up, towards the roof. "My room's up there." The two remain in a silent staring contest, until Stiles decided Derek's either not taking the hint, or he's ignoring it.  

'This whole no talking thing. It’s really getting old.' He thinks to himself.  

Stiles rolls his eyes, tapping his paw against the ladder. 'can I see?' Derek looks uncomfortable at first, but when Stiles doesn't back down, he signs in resignation. "come here." He gently picks Stiles up, lifting him up to his shoulders. Stiles drapes himself around Derek's neck, like he's seen in movies and can't help feeling a little sad for all the foxes who've been in the same situation, just much more on the stuffed side. Derek keeps one hand on Stiles, so he doesn't fall off, and climbs the ladder one-handed.  

Once they're at the top of the ladder, Derek stops. Stiles understands why.  

The room can't be anymore than two meters tall. Stiles looks at Derek wearily, 'He can't be serious.' Derek nervously petts Stiles' fur with a broad hand. 'holy shit. He actually sleeps in this.. Cave. Huh. Big man in a little space.' Stiles chuffs at the thought, while Derek just looks at him with a suspicious glare. "You want to go back down now?" Stiles licks Derek's face as a yes, and Derek starts making his way back down the ladder, somewhat quickly.  

Once they're back on the ground floor, Derek sets Stiles down on the floor, standing with his arms crossed. He studies Stiles carefully for a moment. "If you're going to stay here, we need to set a few ground rules." Stiles nods his head solemnly. "If you're in any kind of danger, you need to let me know. I won't put my pack in harms way for you." Stiles curls his tail around himself defensively. Like he would even intentionally hurt his pack. Stiles dips his head in agreeance before Derek continues. "Don't break anything." Derek seems to stress this one a little. Stiles nods again. Derek straightens himself "Anything I say, goes. If I say you have to leave tomorrow, you'd better be gone by morning. Got it?" Stiles swallows loudly, as Derek continues. "lastly, and I know this might be a little uncomfortable, but you have to tell me who you are..." He seems a little lost for words for a moment, before seemingly finding the right ones to say. "somehow." He tilts his head to the side, trying to figure a way around their little problem.  

Stiles' stomach rumbles loudly, and the sound seems to resound throughout the tiny room. Stiles looks up at Derek, somewhat sheepishly, as the wolf sigh's. "but first, let's get you fed." Derek moves to the boxes stacked near the door, some of which Stiles recognizes. It's the food they've been dropping on his porch. Stiles smiles shyly to himself (that was his idea) as Derek fishes around the cardboard box looking for food appropriate for a fox. Eventually, he pulls out something meaty looking.  

Derek studies the meat In his hand. "Guess this'll have to do"  

- 

The meat isn't all that bad, actually.

* * *

** NOTES **

** UGH. Am I right?  **

** Sometimes I feel like I have no friends because I spend most of my time writing. Then I remember it's true and write to deal with ALL THE FEELS. **

**I might be a little weird. **

 

**I feel like this chapter has a load of words, but not a lot of substance. BUT, it had to be done. Stiles has to know the rules and kinda 'move in' with Derek, so I figured its better to get it over and done with sooner rather than later.**

**As per usual, If you liked my writing make sure to leave a kudos, or a comment if you REALLY liked it. **

**Talk to me on[Tumblr](http://fox-pause.tumblr.com/ask)!**

** (づ￣ ³￣)づ*:･ﾟ✧ **

** (love you all) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet day for the Fox and wolf, until someone startles the little fox.

By midnight, Stiles is curled up next to Derek on the bed.  

At first, Derek had insisted the fox sleep on the armchair. Stiles did try to sleep there, in all honesty. Its just that, well, Stiles can’t sleep without his pillow. 

10'o clock found him pacing loudly by the glowing embers of the fire in a tired trance. 

10:30, he was fidgeting, huffing and puffing from his toasty position at the foot of the chair. 

No matter what he tried, he just couldn’t find it in himself to finally join the land of dreams.  

At 11:30, almost on the dot, Derek came huffing down the ladder. His hair was tousled from tossing and turning in his bed. He looked like he'd had the same amount of sleeplessness as Stiles did. Groaning, Derek rubs a hand down the length of his face, sighing tiredly.  

"If you don't shut the fuck up and go to sleep, I'm gonna have to kick you out." 

Stiles cocks an eyebrow (an expression that he hopes Derek can read), before rolling his eyes at the wolf.  

Sighing, he places his muzzle on his front paws, trying his dammed best not to squirm against the wolf's wishes.  

Of course he can’t sit still.  

Within the same minute Derek told him explicitly not to move, he's moving again.  

Before Stiles has a chance to blink, Derek's angrily marching towards him. He stops before the fox, grunting out an irritated "I've had enough" before scooping Stiles into his arms, flinging him roughly over his shoulder and striding over to the ladder, climbing it easily.  

The wolf pushes Stiles in front of him, almost throwing him onto the bed... Which is so much comfier than it should be, before settling back into the warm spot in the center. 

Stiles is.. unsure of what to do.  

Does he lay down at the end of the bed, or does he snuggle into the promising warmth of the wolf's chest like he really wants to? Deciding on the latter (there really was no argument), the fox hesitantly tip-toes up the bed. He sniffs cautiously at Derek's collarbones, almost testing the waters.  

The wolf, half asleep and still half pissed-off, snags Stiles' startled form, tucking him tightly against his chest with a low grumble. Stiles shifts slightly, his tail trailing over Derek so it doesn't get trapped, should the wolf turn in his slumber and settles into a deep, deep sleep, aided by the wolf's content sigh.  

- 

Come morning, Derek's still asleep.  

With Stiles trapped below him.  

The fox whistles high in his throat, frustrated. Being trapped underneath the wolf (who is a freakin' furnace) for the entirety of the night is cramping his style. Just a little.  

Eventually though after some gentle nipping, the wolf wakes up. He mumbles something along the lines of 't erly', rolling onto his back with a sleepy groan.  

He sits upright quickly, staring at a startled Stiles. He looks genuinely confused. 

"How did you?..." his eyes widen comically as he remembers the night before. Arching a thick eyebrow, he says "That. Is never happening again."  

Stiles cocks his head to the side... what?  

- 

They eat breakfast outside the next morning on the porch, yawning loudly.  

Occasionally, Derek'll find himself reaching over to run his fingers through the fox's thick, yet surprisingly soft fur, before catching himself, muttering an apology he really doesn't mean. Stiles wasn't expecting to receive or enjoy the albeit brief contact Derek was giving him, but every time Derek stops, he shuffles a little bit closer, giving his silent permission for Derek to continue.  

After a lengthy breakfast, the pair putter around the back yard.  

 Stiles trots into the small clearing, noting how the short-cropped grass feels different against the pads of his paws, while Derek heads straight for a crappy looking shed. Stiles sits in the middle of a long patch of grass, while he watches Derek wheel load after load of potted plants out from the shed with a curious look.  

Once he's done moving the plants out from the shed, he stands back, looking over his haul. Nodding to himself he looks back at Stiles, noting his curious glance.  

"They're ready for the garden." He gestures to the wheelbarrow with both hands, proud of his work.  

Stiles pads his way over. Perching both paws on the lip of the barrow. He tries, in vain, to lift himself up to see over the edge. To no avail. He huffs, annoyed at his stupid, hindering, fox height.  

Derek stands, arms crossed, watching silently as the fox's struggles to see inside the barrow. He lets out an amused huff before winding his hands around the small fox, lifting him up and onto his shoulders. The fox settles easily, stretched between broad shoulder blades. His ears perk up as he lets out an excited yip, taking in the array of rare plants. 

Not that he knows what they are.  

There are small, purple flowers with yellow, honey colored leaves as well as a large bush with flamboyant pink leaves, decorated with bright blue flowers, just to describe a few. 

Stiles has never seen anything quite so.. odd before.  

They're actually really cool. 

Derek waits while the fox takes in the array of different flowers he's accumulated over the years. 

"Some of these used to belong to my mother." The fox stills on his shoulders, swinging it's head to give him an inquisitive look. 

Derek takes his time, playing with the hem of his shirt. "She used to have the most amazing garden.." Derek trails off for a moment, taking a trip down memory lane.  

Stiles muzzles the wolf's jaw softly.  

Derek shakes his head against the bitter-sweet memories, tilting his head into the fox's soft fur, humming softly.   

"Deerrreekkkk~"  

The fox finches away from the familiar voice, flight instincts taking hold. He jumps down from Derek's shoulders, sprinting into the nearby bushes just as Allison pounds on the front door.  

The wolf fights the urge to chase after the fox, to find out what upset him. But, If Derek goes to chase the fox, Allison might hear him running through the preserve and that's a confrontation Derek's just not ready to have. Not just yet.  

Instead, he quietly make his way through the back door, locking it firmly behind him.  

 

* * *

 

** NOTES **

**Look at me, updating on time and stuff. Aren't you proud?**

**But in all seriousness, I really think this one's coming along nicely.**

**Anyway, If you liked my writing make sure to leave a kudos, or a comment if you REALLY liked it. (make sure to let me know if writing about cars was too weird for you guys)**

**Talk to me on[Tumblr](http://fox-pause.tumblr.com/ask)!**

**(づ￣ ³￣)づ*:･ﾟ✧**

**(P.S I love you guys)**

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff is to be ensured...

This time, Stiles doesn't get lost. 

He weaves through the foliage like a man possessed, turning sharply as he follows the incessant urge to flee, run, to just get, narrated by an unfamiliar voice echoing in the place his conscience should be. The voice's urging, now that he thinks about it, has been playing as his internal dialogue for the past 5 minutes he's been running.  

huh. 

But it feels right, so he keeps following it. He follows it until it tells him to stop, and then he kinda misses its absence.  

No biggy.  

He finds himself at the edge of a stream, suddenly thirsty. He drops the tip of his muzzle into the fresh, crisp water, trying his best to somehow manipulate the water into his mouth. Drinking like a human won't work, since, hey, no hands and all, and when he tried to put his entire mouth underwater, he just choked himself.  

He thinks about all those nature documentaries his mother used to watch with him, all the dogs he's seen at the vet, and tries to imitate the way they simply curl the end of their tongue and lap the water into their mouths. 

It's like anything Stiles tries for the first time: It involves a lot of flailing at first, but eventually, (after nearly falling in the water twice) he nails it.   

Having refreshed himself, he turns tail back into the forest.  

Its nowhere near as hard to find Derek's cabin this time. Sans Derek. 

- 

(after carefully checking to make sure Allison's gone home) he checks in the garden for Derek, noting the flowers that're still in the barrow, waiting eagerly to be planted. He putters around to the back door, pushing at it lightly, only to find it locked securely from the inside. 

After several minutes of scratching and digging at the door, it finally opens, only to reveal a cranky and slightly confused Derek. 

"you're back?" 

It sounds more like a statement than a question, so Stiles cocks his head to the side, letting his ears flop around. Derek's almost sounds surprised Stiles came back: like he was just going to leave Derek alone to stew in his own depressive juices some more. 

Stiles would never let that happen, fox or not.  

Stiles huffs, head held high. he trots into the room, pouncing and sinking into the green armchair, stretching his limbs as far as they'll go. Derek follows closely behind, closing and locking the door behind him.  

When he sees Stiles sprawled out in the chair, he huffs, shaking his head. "someone I used to know used to sprawl out like that." He picks Stiles up gingerly by the scruff, settling himself into his armchair comfortably before depositing the fox back onto his lap. "My sister used to love this damn chair."  

Now Stiles feels kind of guilty for pouncing onto it so readily, except Derek's finally opening up about what his family used to be like (It has absolutely nothing to do with Derek's hands massaging Stiles' fur gently.  _Nothing at all_ ). Derek is quiet for a moment, possibly reflecting on the past with a smile on his face before breaking the comfortable silence. "Laura and I always thought it had something to do with the fact that this chair, used to be my grandmothers." He sighs as Stiles stares into the flames of the fireplace, trying to picture what Derek's family must've looked like.  

He pictures a house bustling with beautiful people, all bound together. He's seen a picture of Laura once, when his dad was trying to figure out just who the body in the woods belonged to. He'd done quite a bit of research since then. He refused to remember her simply as the poor girl who was torn in two by her own flesh and blood. After some searching, he'd found a picture of her graduating. She was gorgeous, with silky long black hair that graced tan, lean shoulders. She had her brothers eyes too, although they seemed to lean more towards brown than blue.  

"Gran always used to tell the best stories."  

Derek pauses, catching himself. Stiles turns in his lap, careful not to dig his claws in, lightly head butting Derek's chin. Derek laughs softly, bringing his hand up to rub gently behind Stiles' ears.  

"She used to tell us all types of stories. Used to talk about the old days and how small her pack was. She was the one who told us the story of how the first wereolf came to be." he smiles to himself, looking up at Stiles with a michevous glint in  his eyes. "I'm pretty sure she made most of it up, but when we were young, we used to beg for those stories." 

Derek zones out again and this time, Stiles leaves him be. He figures Derek;s had a lifetime of being miserable, why not let him be happy for a minute, even if It's remembering those who aren’t with him anymore. God knows he does it too. 

- 

Some time later, Derek twitches in his sleep. Stiles feels the jolt below him and before he knows it, he's jumped off the wolf's lap and is puffed up beside the fire. Derek startles, having heard Stiles' heartbeat quicken. Taking in Stiles' defensive stance, a solem look washes over his features. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I'm a bit jumpy in my sleep." He looks down at the chair, running a hand through his hair. "especially when I sleep in this thing." Stiles tilts his head in understanding, and Derek's expression brightens a little. 

He gets up, moving to the back door, Stiles stepping on his heels.  

- 

They spend the rest of the day working in the garden. (note: Derek's the only one working. Stiles is watching eagerly from his spot on the wolf's shoulders, chittering every now and again.) By the time they're finished, Derek's covered from head to toe in dirt, and Stiles is covered in Derek's sweat. (he knows he should be grossed out, but his foxy side?? seems to thrive in the wolf's scent.) 

Clutching the fox's legs so he doesn't fall off, Derek rises to a standing position.  

"I think we need to wash off." Derek sniffs loudly, wiping a hand down the front of his face roughly, before turning his head slightly towards Stiles. 

"What do you think?"  

Stiles chitters happily in response, and soon, Derek's marching the both of them towards the stream's edge. 

* * *

 

** NOTES **

 

**Cue character development as Derek opens up and we get a glimpse of just what it is he's struggling to deal with.**

**Everyone loves a bit of fluff, right?**

**As per usual, If you liked my writing make sure to leave a kudos, or a comment if you REALLY liked it.**

**Talk to me on[Tumblr](http://fox-pause.tumblr.com/ask)!**

**(づ￣ ³￣)づ*:･ﾟ✧**

**(love you all)**

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Derek carries him to the stream, gently lowering him into the water before stripping down to his black boxer briefs himself. The cold water is only slightly uncomfortable for Stiles, but he’s willing to brave it, just for a little while.

A few minutes later, after he’s adjusted to the barely-there current, he plays in the water. He pounces at the little fish that skim the bottom of the stream, missing every time. He looks up, catching the wolf watching his actions with a frond look. He chitters at Derek, tilting his head towards the fish ' _wanna help me catch one?_ '. Derek huffs a laugh before shaking his head at the fox, turning to scoop cold water over his body, carefully washing the dirt from his tanned skin while Stiles swims around the wolf, not bothering to clean his fur. For now, he’s happy to watch as Derek’s muscles contract and pull as he scrubs at weathered skin. Its not like its anything new, But Derek’s really, really muscly. Like, if he was a car, he’d beat the Camaro. That’s how much muscle he has (but half the talk.) 

Once Derek is done washing himself, he gently pulls Stiles closer. Stiles huffs in annoyance –he was _this close_ to catching that one fish, he swears- but otherwise allows the wolf to manhandle him into position for cleaning. Stiles looks back accusingly as Derek tuts at the state of his fur ‘ _I’m not that dirty. You were the one working in the garden’_ But the wolf just shakes his head. “You’re not sleeping in the bed smelling like sweat and dirt.” Which means ‘ _hell yeah!’_ , Stiles can sleep in the nook of Derek’s arm again and scent him and smell him all night and-

Stiles is suddenly _very_ thankful for the cold water.

Derek pays Stiles’ sudden stillness no mind, gently carding large hands through the fox’s fur, allowing cold water to soak through. He scrubs gently behind Stiles’ ears, taking extra care to avoid getting any water in his eyes as he sloshes the water over Stiles’ sleek body. Stiles closes his eyes at the sensation, a quiet involuntarily, happy chittering working its way from his throat. The wolf laughs, and Stiles marvels at how it completely transforms his face from Mr. McBroody ‘Tear your throat out with my teeth’ into ‘little munchkin obsessed with life’. 

He really needs to stop thinking about Derek being adorable. Ugh 

Once Derek’s happy with the way Stiles smells he releases him back into the water, which greets him with a loud ‘splosh’. The wolf climbs up the bank, careful not to slip and undo the past 10 minutes of washing, gathering his clothes as he goes. He turns back to call the fox to him, but stops when he sees the fox’s furrowed brow of concentration (Don’t ask how he knows what it is, he’s just as confused as you are.) Derek watches almost just as intently as it carefully hooks thin claws into the gravely stream bed, trying its damnest to stay completely still. He watches as a small fish –barely enough for a bite-  darts up the stream, right into the fox’s trap. In a flash of dull red the fox bounds out of the water and glides back in seamlessly, missing the fish completely. Derek laughs aloud at the fox’s antics before schooling his expression back, memories washing over him like a bittersweet scent.

The trap, the concentration, the effort that went into it all, only for it to not even come close to working – that’s something Cora, his baby sister would do. He shakes his head, bright mood slowly turning sombre. 

A sharp yip echo’s from the waters edge, drawing him out of his thoughts. It’s the fox, head craned to the side in a mannerism that’s similar to a dogs in a silent question ‘ _you ok?_ ’ He nods, but the fox keeps staring expectantly. He figures there’s no harm, so he tells the fox. Tells the fox everything.

He tells the fox about Cora and somewhere along the way, he gets way too into a story –the one about the time they went camping and Cora got a whole pack of marshmallows stuck in her hair- and before he knows it, this fox, this stranger, knows more about his family, about _Kate_ , than his own pack does 

But you know what? He doesn’t even care.

For some reason unknown to him, he knows this fox, this annoying, spastic fox, won’t tell a soul. And he won't judge him for it too. 

-

Once Derek's soul is bared to the little fox, it's both darker and colder, so they return to the cabin soundlessly, still dripping wet from their wash in the stream. Derek stops Stiles with a heavy hand he’s about to cross the threshold into the heat of the room. He cocks an eyebrow at the shivering vulpine, “You’re dripping wet. There’s no way I’m letting you in like that.” and disappears into the depths of the cabin.

If Stiles could pout, he would. After Derek's told him everything, he's going to let him freeze to death on this porch. 

Much to Stiles' relief, Derek returns with two fluffy towels –Stiles recognizes them as the ones Lydia dropped off. After roughly drying Stiles off, Derek walks back into the cabin, sinking into the armchair with a content sigh. Stiles follows suit, towel still half-draped across his back. It tumbles to the floor in a heap as he jumps into the wolf’s lap, welcoming large warm hands as they gently brush their way through tangled fur.  After a few minutes Stiles sighs deeply, slipping easily into the realm of sleep.

-

Come morning, he’s trapped between two large muscly arms and a burly chest, heaving with sleep. Not that he minds. At all. In fact, he nuzzles in deeper. The wolf tightens his hold on the fox, sleepily butting noses. Derek’s heady scent washes over him, offering a sense of comfort he hasn’t felt in years. It’s funny though, once you think about it. Derek and Stiles find comfort in each other. But does Derek only find comfort in Stiles now because he’s seen as a stranger and someone safe to confide in, or is it because of something deeper? He hopes it’s the latter, but there’s this budding fear building In his chest that once the wolf knows who he really is, he’ll reject him. Throw him out like yesterday’s trash. Hell, maybe he’ll become more of a recluse than he already is.

And Stiles can’t have that, can he?

So before the wolf wakes from his slumber, Stiles makes a plan. He’s going to help Derek, heal him as much is as humanly- or vulpinely possible and then leave. He’s not going to let Derek clamp up, not going to let him backtrack. He’s going to make Derek better.

Even if he has to tear himself apart to do it.

* * *

 

**NOTES**

**It's moving along nicely, isn't it? I have a plot twist in the works as we speak, something to do with Deaton's dust and it's 'intended effect' (hint hint) but I guess you'll just have to wait a while until I actually get it down on paper. Anyways, I've recently been collaborating with an artist on Tumblr and we've managed to produce a short fic and artwork, so if you've got a few spare moments please head on over[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5975359) to check it out and let me know what you think. **

**If you have a wicked prompt Idea, make sure to let me know. Or if you need to chat about something, be it a bad day or the world won't stop raining on your parade, make sure to drop a message in my[chat](http://fox-pause.tumblr.com/). I won't bite. **  

**As per usual, If you liked my writing make sure to leave a kudos, or a comment if you REALLY liked it.**

**(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧**


	6. Chapter 6

They’re woken early the next morning by panicked knocking at the door.

The wolf jolts upright, flinging a startled fox into the cabin wall with a small bang. Derek winces, mouthing an ‘I’m sorry’ and a ‘stay here, stay quiet’ before scrambling out of bed, lowering himself down the ladder.

Stiles stays upstairs, side throbbing slightly as he moves to a stand and wriggles himself underneath the blankets, listening intently to what’s happening downstairs.

The knocking doesn’t ease up until Derek almost rips the door from its hinges as he opens it, judging by the tired groan the cabin gives. Derek shuffles in place as someone barges in, loud footsteps resounding throughout the tiny cabin. The footsteps stop near the centre.

“We can’t find Stiles.”

The voice – Scott’s- sounds remorseful and scared shitless, like Stiles going missing is somehow his fault. Stiles whines quietly, small and scared for his friend. But even though this is the 2nd most scared Stiles has ever heard Scott, he’s concentrating more on how Derek’s heartbeat is almost matching Stiles’ jack-rabbit beat echoing in his own chest. Derek’s worried.

About him.

“What do you mean you can’t find Stiles?”

Scott whines, and Stiles can picture his face twisting into a mix of fear and guilt as he says “we’ve searched everywhere. His house, school, your loft, all around town.” Derek growls as Scott continues. “I-I can’t. Derek, I can’t find him.” Stiles wants to go down there, wrap his tiny foxy body around his brother, but he knows he can’t. So he settles himself deeper in the blankets, inhaling the warm scent of Derek, savouring what little comfort it offers.

“did you track his scent?” Derek grounds out, and judging by the slight lisp, he’s already partially shifted.

Scott must nod, because Derek barks out a harsh “Where to?”

“The preserve. But- Derek- the scent, it just stops.” Stiles can hear Scott pacing the floor below him while Derek, assumedly, watches on.  

“Scott. You need to be more precise." 

He can hear Scott’s getting agitated with Derek’s bluntness from the agitated growl the bitten wolf lets out. “it vanishes. In the preserve.”

Both wolves growl at each other before Derek growls out a surly “we’ll help you look”

Scott’s bafflement rings throughout the cabin, loud and clear.

“we?”

-

Derek gets Scott to wait outside, beyond hearing range before he goes to retrieve the fox.

Stiles bristles when Derek emerges from below, brow furrowed. The wolf rips the blankets away from the fox who whines at the sudden chill, grounding out a low “I need your help”. Stiles shakes his head at the wolf. If he helps them look for, well, him, he knows something’s gonna go wrong. Either someone’ll figure it out, come to the sudden realisation that Stile has been there the whole time and get angry, or they’ll take him away, back to Deaton for some sort of ‘assessment’. Either way it stops Stiles from being able to finish his plan to make Derek better.

It’s better if he just stays here, out of harms way.

But, of course, Derek isn’t playing along. 

He grabs at the fox roughly, grunting when it nips at his fingers, small droplets of blood rising through skin. The wolf growls, reaching for the nape of Stiles’ neck but the fox screeches, withdrawing into itself. Stiles can smell Derek’s distress at the move, but can’t will himself to do what the wolf wants. Derek sighs, and Stiles looks up into hazel eyes. This surly old bastard, actually looks worried. The edges of his mouth are turned down, brows pulled down to match. “Foxy. Please. Help me look for Stiles.” The wolf sits back on his heels, giving the fox some much-needed space. “I-uh-the pack. We-uh- we can’t do this without him.” He looks around the room, as if praying for strength. “this whole supernatural thing. He-He’s crucial to our survival. My survival.”

Stiles exhales, breaking the silence that’s stretched between them. Shakily, he crawls into Derek’s arms, savouring the pleased sigh that washes over him with the wolf’s breath.  “thanks, Foxy.”

-

In general, Scott isn’t too worried about who, or what, Foxy is. He isn’t worried about why Derek won’t let the little fox out of his sight, or why he’s helping them look for their missing friend. In fact, after a (very) brief introduction, Scott nods and starts rambling about something that’s non-essential to the conversation. Stiles notes, with a weird sort of chill, that this is how Scott copes with things he doesn’t want to think about. Unlike Stiles, Scott isn’t a natural rambler. Well, not until he has to face something he really doesn’t want to, then he’ll tell you everything about anything. What Stiles is trying to get at here, is that Scott is worried about Stiles and his wellbeing. It’s touching. Really.

If he didn’t have this obligation to make Derek better and the cage of a fur-bound body, he’d happily wrap his arms around Scott, rub his back and tell him it’s all better.

-

Together, Stiles and Derek follow Scott’s unsteady footfalls into the preserve. Stiles weaves ahead of the two every now and then, but circles back once Derek’s heart rate picks inches just a little higher.

Eventually, the trio reaches the place Stiles used Deaton’s weird as hell dust. Scott pulls out his phone, sending quick texts to the rest of the pack updating them on the situation. His phone makes a loud ‘ping’ noise and he looks up with a sigh.

“We need to pan out. See if anyone can pick up any scents.” Derek nods, as does Stiles, while Scott reaches for something in his back pocket. Pulling out a small patch of cloth that’s achingly familiar, he moves towards Stiles, arm outstretched. “I’m not sure if the whole scent thing works the same for you as it does for us, but here’s his scent.” Scott then looks up to Derek, a small, apprehensive smile playing at his lips. “I’m not too sure he’d be happy about me tearing one of his shirts up though.”

Stiles sneezes, and the gang takes that as a cue to begin their search.

Scott bounds into the shrubs, while Derek takes his time checking the ground.

Stiles marches into the preserve headfirst with heavy feet, guilt slowing him down to a sluggish crawl.

* * *

 

**NOTES**

**WOO! another update, another chapter closer to the plot twist. (I talk about it like it's going to be impressive. It's not.)**

**Anyways,[pandatails](http://pandatails.tumblr.com/) and I have collaborated again to make something AWESOME, (I already have over 4k written and he has more than 2 artworks in the works) so stay tuned for that. it's gonna be cute and heart-wrenching as hell, so YAYA. (you guys are gonna hate me and love me at the same time. I'm so excited.)**

**Let me know what you think about this chapter in the comments! I'm pretty sure it feels a little rushed, but I'll fix that later.**  

**As per usual, If you liked my writing make sure to leave a kudos, or a comment if you REALLY liked it.**

**(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧**

**Have a lovely day.**


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles lopes towards the edge of the preserve, a solid hours run. He tries to let the rhythm of his feet distract the turmoil of emotions brewing inside him, but can’t. He feels useless. And guilty. Emphasis on guilty. Why the hell is he searching for himself anyway? It doesn’t make any sense. But then he remembers his obligation to Derek, and sets off into the woods once again, feeling shittier than ever. 

He reaches the edge of the preserve with a huff, chest expanding and deflating as he tries to get his breath back. He looks around before turning back, noting how the seasons change is soon approaching.

They meet back at Derek’s cabin. Stiles is the first to arrive, closely followed by Scott and Derek. He waits patiently at the front door as the wolves amble up the porch, heads bowed. He whines high in his throat and nudges the open palm hanging at Derek’s side. The older wolf sighs gloomily but faintly traces his fingertips along the fox’s muzzle before opening the heavy wooden door 

They all enter silently, sullen mood settling between them.

The wolves stand around for a bit, staring but not seeing. The fox leaves them to it for a while, before deciding he’s had enough. Stiles reaches up, gently tugging Derek’s calloused fingers between needle-sharp teeth towards their armchair. The older male follows along like a zombie, banging into the arm of the chair with his hip. Once the wolf is settled, Stiles turns towards Scott. Nosing at the back of Scott’s leg, the fox chuffs when it gives slightly. The movement stirs the wolf, and he runs a rough hand down his face before turning to pace the floor.

Stiles’ pretty sure there’s gonna be a pathway drilled into the floor by the time Scott’s through with it. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Scott says, sighing. Derek nods in response. “I-just. I. I thought he’d be here somewhere. I thought he’d come to you.” He runs his hand down the back of his neck, frustrated.

Both wolves settle into the tense silence again. Stiles sighs loudly into the silence, but neither of the wolves’ stir. Time for plan b.

He slowly makes his way over to Derek, who’s currently staring into the dark of the fireplace. He makes sure to make plenty of noise as he walks, so he doesn’t end up startling either of the wolves.

 Pinning his ears back, he gently noses Derek’s arm, trying to get the wolf’s attention. Derek tenses slightly, but his eyes do not move form where they’re locked on the fireplace. Sighing, Stiles jumps into Derek’s lap, taking great care not to squish anything valuable, and turning back, he drapes Derek’s hand over his flank.

From behind them, Scott makes a wounded noise and stops pacing, frozen in the middle of the floor. “Would you stop that? Please?” He strides closer, but stops halfway. “You two, you’re. You’re messing it up!” We’re supposed to find Stiles! Not just sit and sulk and pet dirty pests until we feel better!” Derek exhales slowly, the perfect contrast to Scott’s near hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling quickly, struggling to keep up with his words. “Derek, please. We have to find Stiles.”

Derek does not move.

Keeps threading fingers through coarse fur.

“Please, Derek.” Scott’s whining now, and it breaks Stiles’ heart. He tries to wiggle out of Derek’s grip, and after a few seconds of pointless movement the wolf finally gives in with a faint whimper. Stiles runs over to Scott, settling at his feet, belly to the floor. He chuffs at his brother, who tentatively picks him up. Scott smells hurt. But before he can work out what it is, he realises something’s dripping on his fur. He looks up to see it’s Scott, eyes brimming with tears, just in time for another to fall on the tip of his muzzle. He licks them away without a second thought.

Scott wipes his snot away with the back of his hand, while the other unconsciously weaves its way through Stiles’ fur. He sighs, resigned. “If you don’t want to help. That’s fine.” He turns to leave, Fox still clutched gently in his arms. “But know this is your fault. You’re the one who shut yourself away. He- god, Derek. Do you know how much he cared about you? If you hadn’t just cut yourself off as soon as someone showed you they cared, Stiles wouldn’t be missing right now. We were too worried about you to even think about Stiles! You wanna know why? Huh? Because Stiles INSISTED we make you a priority. Because he cared more about YOU than he did his own well-being. Look where that got him. He could be- god- he could be dead, Derek. He-” Stiles whines, high in his throat. It’s a strained, pitiful noise. If he could cry, he would. This isn’t Derek’s fault. Not even close. It’s because he was too fucking stupid to even think that Deaton wouldn’t betray them. Stiles had always been too fucking trusting. It’s his fault he couldn’t fix Derek. Too dammed impatient. If he’d just- If he’d just done this whole thing better he- can’t breathe.

 _He can’t fucking breathe_.

Scott lets him go, or more like drops him when the fox lashes out in a blind panic, attacking poor limbs before they can retreat and bounds into the woods, Derek’s scared roar ricocheting behind him.

* * *

 

**NOTES**

**This plot has a mind of it's own. Stay tuned for the next chapter, cause I'm pretty sure I'm gonna upload that on Sunday. (two chapters in one week?! I know. I'm trying to make up for my past tardiness.) Hint. The comments and kudos are fuel for authors like me to keep writing. (keep 'em coming. I respond to every one.)**

**Seamless promotion follows. You have been warned.**

**[pandatails](http://pandatails.tumblr.com/) and I have collaborated on two works now. Here's the [first one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5975359), and here's the [second](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6235171/chapters/14286649). (I'm still shit at summaries, so let me know how to improve on the 2nd one).**

**Let me know what you think about this chapter in the comments!**  

**(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧**

**I'm proud of you guys, so there's that too.**


	8. Chapter 8

He plummets into the forest headfirst. He runs blindly, panic clouding his vision black, Derek’s worried yells drowned out by his quickening heartbeat drumming in his ears. He only stops when his feet suddenly slip out from beneath him, sending him sliding down a steep hillside. Sticks, rocks and hard clumps of clay batter his little body as he falls, leaving him bleeding and caked in mud. He lays there wheezing for some time, the pain of open wounds distracting him from his panic.

He stays there, listening to the rasping of his chest as his breaths come and go. There’s a cracking in the distance, two voices yelling, but he can’t bring himself to care. He just wants to sleep, just for a little while. So, after a brief struggle with himself, he closes his eyes and lets a different type of darkness overcome him, painting his vision a bright gold.

-

Breathing hurts. Everything, hurts.

He gets up slowly, legs shaking with the effort. Looking down at himself he sees he’s caked in mud, dried blood hidden beneath its surface. He looks around and recognises where he is. How the hell did he run so far? He doesn’t even remember passing the fallen tree, never mind the stream. He shakes his head, hating how his brain shakes inside his skull.

Turning around slowly, he begins the long trek back to the cabin where hopefully, Derek will be waiting for him.

As he walks, he notices the woods are very quiet. Ominously so. In fact, the only noise to be heard for miles around is the soft pitter-patter of his feet against well-worn paths. Now, Stiles is not only a cop’s kid, but a sheriff’s. He knows it’s most likely the calm before the storm. He stops in place and scents the air, checking for trouble. He catches the faint scent of a deer, long gone and... something else.  

Derek. 

He lets the familiar scent wash over him in waves, unknowingly relaxing tired muscles. Shifting his muzzle into the breeze he tracks the scent back to the fallen log, where he first met Derek. Its hidden by a round of small bushes, but he can clearly smell Derek, wallowing again.

He’s about to break through the foliage when he senses, more than sees Derek’s emotions flare suddenly. Derek’s emotions have been overly indifferent, calm, so this influx catches Stiles off-guard.  

Peering through the shrubbery, he spots Derek. The wolf is sitting on the log, hunched over with his head in his hands. He smells slightly salty and overly exhausted, like he’d been up for days. Which Stiles knows is partly true. He doubts Derek got much rest last night.

The wolf’s chest shudders and Stiles whines high in his throat, but Derek doesn’t seem to hear him.

Derek takes a few more breathes that come a bit quicker than the last before he speaks, nothing more than a tired whisper. “I’m so sorry. Stiles, I’m so sorry.” He hiccups, tears falling freely to the ground. “If I stayed with you instead of hidden away, run away from the pack, what you all meant to me you –oh god- you would’ve still been here.” He looks up, into the canopy of tall trees above him, tears gleaming in the dappled light. “You would’ve been with me. I. I can’t do this without you. I need- I. I need your laughter, sarcasm…” Derek looks down at his hands again, wiping at his eyes. “I need you, Stiles. Please don’t leave me.”

He lurches forwards before he fully knows what he’s doing, running into Derek’s hands that’re stained with tears. He’s whimpering, chattering and yipping – Anything to let Derek know that he’s here. Has been the whole time. That he will. Not. Leave. Him.

Harsh sobs wrack the wolf’s body as he picks the fox up, pressing his face into the thick scruff. He strokes coarse fur harshly, desperate. He’s mumbling, and Stiles really has to focus to hear it. It’s almost like a mantra – and a sad one at that, of “ImsorrysosorryImsorrypleasepleasepleasejustdontleaveme” and it breaks Stiles’ little fox heart to hear.

He squirms around, but Derek’s arms just tighten around him, not ever letting him go. He whines, craning his neck to lick fresh tears from Derek’s hazel eyes, letting the wolf hold him as close as he needs to.

It takes Derek a while to come down, after that.

It’s almost sundown when Derek removes his head from Stiles’ neck, soggy fur stuck to his face. He sighs, cradling the fox gently and carries him silently into the cabin. He kneels in front of their spot and lowers Stiles into the chair, reeking of sadness. But before Derek can stand up straight, Stiles places a single paw on a broad shoulder. He stares at Stiles, confused, but Stiles just shakes his head.

Taking a deep breath, using the back of the chair he shakily manages to stand back on his hind legs, although he’s sure he must look absolutely ridiculous. Using his free paw, he points to himself before gesturing widely to the room. _Me Stiles_. The thinks, hoping, somehow, he’s telepathic.

Derek just looks at him like he’s gone crazy(er).

Sighing, he tries to move off the chair, rolling his eyes when Derek doesn’t get the memo and blocks his path. “no more leaving.” And although Stiles is pretty sure Derek wouldn’t hold him against his will, there’s still an odd authoritarian tone that rings strong. He shakes his head, nocking at the nape of the wolf’s neck, a clear, _no. never leaving_.

The wolf straightens, letting Stiles off the chair. He walks to the fireplace and paws at the charcoal, breaking it into a fine dust. Carefully, he unsheathes a claw and drags it through the ash. 

Derek comes around him then, legs brushing against Stiles’ back, squinting as he reads the shaky words. “ _Stiles?_ ” At first it sounds like a question, but then the wolf sobers up. “Stiles! You know where he is?” Stiles nods, wincing at how hopeful Derek looks. He rolls his eyes, and lays belly-down in the ash. Derek looks perplexed. The fox rolls his eyes, and that, that must be the deciding factor because suddenly Stiles is being wrapped up tighter than before, and Derek’s doing this weird whining/growling thing in his ear.

It’s nice.

* * *

**NOTES**

**I bought a car today, so I figured I'd post the extra chapter a day early so you guys could share in my happiness! Also, I figured you'd need a while to get over the punch in the feels, right?**

**Here's one of my fic's I think a few of you have missed, so please head on over that and check that out[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6235171/chapters/14286649).  **

**You can pester me on[Tumblr](http://fox-pause.tumblr.com), too**

**(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧**

**P.S glitter makes everyone happier.**


	9. Chapter 9

Eventually, Derek sinks down to his knees. Settling for sitting cross-legged on the floor, he stays hunched low over Stiles, who’s still being cuddled close to the wolf’s chest. Stiles chitters, licking Derek’s neck before Derek’s arms finally clench one more time around the smaller body before relaxing their otherwise constricting grasp, settling Stiles in his lap.

Stiles curls his tail around himself, gaze locking with glistening, swirling Hazel eyes.

Derek’s mouth turns down, but even Stiles can tell he’s one catastrophe away from tears. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Stiles sighs, relaxing into the causal stroking of Derek’s fingers along his flank. He opens his mouth, willing some recognisable noise to come out. He chitters uselessly, cringing at the pained expression adorning the wolf’s face. They watch each other for a long minute, each trying to work out a way to communicate so that Stiles can finally, _finally_ tell Derek the truth.

They find themselves playing a game of charades.

Stiles dances around the cabin as Derek shouts guess after guess after him, flinging them from his mouth like a slot machine and having just as much luck as he follows.

 Whenever Stiles dips and dives, Derek calls out “MAGIC RIVER” or “SECRET CAVERN”. If he rears back onto his hind legs, Derek screams “WALKING MAN”. If it weren’t so frustrating, Stiles’d be doubled over in laughter at just how wrong the wolf could be. Who knew that with all their extra senses or whatever, wolves would suck bigtime at guessing games. Thank god he does the researching. Who knows where they’d be.

Stiles flings himself around the room in a vain attempt to act out –as simply as possible- what happened until his legs start to shake and he simply can’t handle the flares in Derek’s hope anymore.

He falls to the floor in a tired heap of limbs while Derek lounges in their chair, head tilted back with his eyes tightly closed. He groans in frustration before sitting up, looking to Stiles with a lost look. “How the hell am I….” His eyes spark open with a sudden idea. Reaching forward he grabs Stiles. “we’ll take you straight to Deaton. I bet he’ll know what to do.” Stiles squawks, twisting out of strong arms once they’re outside the cabin doors. Derek lets him go, barking in frustration “What’re you doing? We can’t waste anymore time, who the hell knows how long this is gonna last!” He gestures wildly to the mass of fur before him, something he must’ve picked up from Stiles while he was human. Derek steps forward, looking to Stiles with a pleading gesture, but he simply shakes his head. Derek sighs, fixing Stiles with a stern gaze until he catches a clue.

“What is it? Is there someone at Deaton’s who did this to you?” He’s growling under his breath again, eyes glowing brightly before settling back onto a pool of unruly colours. Stiles nods, grabbing at Derek’s sleeve when the wolf goes to stomp away angrily. To do irreplaceable damage to a particular vet clinic, no doubt.

Derek huffs, turning angrily. “What now?” he barks.

Stiles noses at Derek’s jumper, eventually finding his way into a large pocket and pulls out Derek’s old phone. Stiles watches as it clatters to the floor, dumbfounded at how old the thing is. ‘ _how the hell does this man function…with this?_ ’ his gaze flickers between the relic and the wolf before shaking himself. More important things to be done. Ask about it later.

Derek watches on as Stiles uses the tip of his nose to punch out a number, picking it up once it starts to ring, wincing as Stiles’ wet-nose goop begins to stick to his ear. A panicked voice filters through the speaker on the second ring.

“Derek? Is that you? I’m with Allison and Lydia. They’ve come up with some way to track Stiles, at least I think so, but we need some help setting up the sensors throughout town so if you could _actually_ help us for once we cou-”

“I’ve got him”

“-ld put some… wait. What did you just say?” If the speaker weren’t so shitty, Stiles’d be confident he could hear Scott’s heart stop through the tinny line. “Did you just… you’ve found him?”

Derek sounds a little choked. “yeah.” He looks down at the ground, where Stiles is scratching behind his ear with a narrow paw. “He’s with me. But –uh-. It’s complicated.”

-

“You can’t be serious.”

Scott’s point-blank staring Derek in the face, without a single trace of self-preservation, one finger thrown out at Stiles like he’s pointing out the bane of his existence. “You can’t seriously believe that for even one second, I’d actually believe this… thing, is Stiles. My best friend. You’re fucking sick.” He sneers at Derek, but it’s all just water off a duck’s back. He stands back, placing some space between himself and Scott.

“Scott. I don’t know what else to tell you. This fox _is_ Stiles.”

“And I’m guessing he what? Told you that himself?” Scott growls, turning to Stiles abruptly. “And you. You’re no better. Taking advantage of a wolf’s mate like that? That’s sad. Even a pest should know better.”

Stiles reels, hurt surging through this system like a virus. He screeches angrily at Scott, barely restraining the need to bite some sense into him until Derek scoops him into his arms, winding him around his neck once where Stiles sits, seething.

Scott moves forward quickly, right back into Derek’s personal space. Derek stops him though, growling low in his throat. Stiles can feel tight muscles coil beneath him, ready to attack. “Scott. Calm down.” Scott shakes his head. Frowns at Derek’s cold demeanour. “Think about it. Use your senses. What’re your ears telling you?”  

Scott scrunches his face, instantly disliking any idea of Derek’s, but does what he says anyway.

Derek repeats himself slowly. “This fox, wrapped around my neck, is Stiles Stillinski.”

Scott’s brow furrows as he dips his head closer to Derek’s chest. He takes a second, eyes fluttering closed as he concentrates on the steady beat before his eyes split wide open, sharp gasp escaping his opened mouth.

Stiles reaches forward, and, ever so gently, closes Scott’s mouth for him. Wouldn’t want him catching flies.

 

* * *

 

**NOTES**

**This chapter was supposed to have a tonne more stuff in it to satisfy you guys, but alas, my sense of pacing has shit itself once again and this clusterfuck is the (amazing) result. But hey, on the plus side, it's almost done! YA! then we can both pretend this pic never even happened.**

**You can pester me on[Tumblr](http://fox-pause.tumblr.com/). I'll only be a little angry. **

**(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧**

**P.S Comments & kudos are fuel for my self-deprecating, romantic self to keep writing. keep 'em coming. **


	10. Chapter 10

 Stiles barely has time to get his paw back before Scott’s snatching Stiles from his perch, crushing him to his chest, shuddering breath ghosting over his fur. He strokes Stiles’ fur roughly, as if he’s not sure how to handle the news and his only outlet is _extremely_ heavy petting. Stiles catches Derek’s eye over Scott’s slumped shoulder and lets his tongue loll out. He’s looking at Stiles with a bittersweet sadness that Stiles doesn’t quite want to find reasoning for.

Eventually, with some coaxing from Derek, Scott lets Stiles down onto the ground. Both men stare quietly at the fox bundled at their feet. An awkward silence settles between the trio until Scott loudly clears his throat.  

“so, uh. What do we do now?” Scott looks to Derek, before deferring back to Stiles. Stiles shakes his head. He has no fucking clue. Derek sighs loudly, drawing both gazes back up to a sullen face. “We have to get him to Deaton’s.” Stiles chitters angrily, fur standing on end as he nips at Derek’s feet, chastising him for that _horrendous_ idea.

Scott, of course, miss-reads the gesture for excitement or something, nodding his head wildly. Stiles thinks he can hear Scott’s brain rattling inside his skull. Derek winces as he sweeps Stiles into his arms, holding him in place as the –for now- fox, tries to wriggle out of his grasp.

“I don’t think he likes tha-Derek! You’re hurting him!” Scott places a placating hand of the back of Stiles’ skull, soothing non-existent pain as Derek freezes while Scott tries to gently coax Stiles from the Derek’s arms.

Stiles chitters hopefully at Scott, pawing at open arms. Derek huffs, turning sharply away from Scott. “Hey! I want to-”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. We need to get Stiles to Deaton. Now.” Scott growls, but jogs to keep up with Derek’s angry pacing as they make their way to the Camaro. Stiles watches the ground pass beneath him with a defeated expression, and before he knows it he’s being forced into the back seat, the hard, shiny leather chilling him to his bone.

Why couldn’t Derek understand his desperation to stay away from Deaton? Why couldn’t Scott see how much of a bad idea this would be? Why is no-one listening to him?

He thinks about what going to the clinic would imply. Knives, needles, magic spells. A druid who’s plan worked perfectly.

Terrifying.

He paces from window to window as Derek drives, pawing messily at the buttons. Of course they’re child locked. He whines pitifully the whole time, hoping _someone_ comes to their senses and lets him go. Back to Derek’s. Home. Whatever. Just not here. Anywhere but here.

Scott turns in his chair, taking in Stiles’ prone, whimpering from before facing Derek with an angry glare. “Dude. Turn around.”

Derek’s grip on the wheel turns white. “We can’t Scott. Stiles needs Deaton’s help.” Scott huffs, looking back at the mess Derek can’t see. “Derek. You can’t see him now, but he’s a mess.” Derek growls, low in his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “We’ve left it too long already.” Scott huffs. “it already could be”

Stiles whines as panic rings loudly in his ears. Huddled underneath Derek’s seat, he lets the darkness offer what little comfort it can. Distantly, he can hear Scott and Derek arguing about… him, he thinks, but to be honest, it all sounds as if it’s underwater. He can feel it building, this wild energy, and its consuming him.

It’s either a panic attack, or something much, much worse.

Blood pours through his veins and its all he can hear as he screams, shrills, as loud as he can. His head hits the underside of the chair, hard, as the car skids off the road and suddenly he feels as if his have insides burst open with liquid fire, pouring out of him in waves of golden dust that swirl around him, choking him until all he can see, all he can feel is- darkness.  

-

This is the right thing to do. _It’s gotta be_.

This has been Derek’s mantra for the past ten minutes. Through Stiles’ rabbiting heartbeat, his shaking that shook the whole car, despite two very heavy werewolves riding up front. Through the confused, hurt chittering echoing from under his seat. Through Scott’s noble attempts to get him to ‘please pull over’ and ‘Derek, please, I think we’re hurting him.’ He kept going. Only Stiles’ agonised shrill could tear him from the simple harmony of his mantra. As if the wheel had been torn from his grasp, the car was sent flying off the road, sailing into an old elm tree.

Both wolves are knocked unconscious.

When he comes to, he feels like shit, the world swarming around him like a wayward compass. He closes his eyes, grimacing as his body slowly seals open wounds closed. He gently touches his head, sees his hand smeared with blood. Groaning, he sits upwards. See’s Scott crumpled beside him.

He throws the door open, falling out of the car. Shakily propping himself up against the car, he limps his way over to Scott’s side. Scott’s door is jammed, so Derek rips it clean off. Once he’s steadied himself, he pulls Scott from the car, laying him down flat on the ground. Deft hands check for any major injuries, but only scathe over small cuts or bruises. He sighs, but stops short. Wasn’t there a reason they were in his car in the first Place?

Stiles.

God-Damn.

Basically throwing himself back into the wreckage he rips apart the interior, checking every nook and cranny the fox could’ve wormed himself into, coming up short. Slumping back into the now destroyed back seat, something catches the light. He bends down Only a light powdering gold shimmers in the light. Reaching forward he smears some between calloused fingers before bringing it up to his nose to smell.

It smells like the preserve. Old and ancient, but he also catches a hint of something else. Something that’s obscure, but at the same time, smells like home. Something he smelt for the first time a little while ago.  

All of a sudden it clicks. He knows exactly where Stiles is.  

-

The darkness isn’t as painless as he thought it’d be. It stings his skin like an allergic reaction, seeping into his pores. It hurts and burns and pulls his skin in all the wrong ways.

Small, golden, flecks swoop through his vision, slowly painting the world golden until they too fade, filtering down to reveal familiar trees, shrubbery and a well-worn path.

-

Sticks and small branches whip at his skin as he sails past, small cuts healing before he has a chance to grimace at the bite of broken skin. The need to get to Stiles drives him forward, barrelling through the underbrush.

His legs are tired and sore when he finally spots the tell-tale glint in the sunlight.

Pushing aside low-hanging branches he enters the small clearing, frowning at the sight before him. There’s a body –Stiles’- laying prone on the floor, metallic gold clouds sweeping out from above him.

-

“Holy fucking shit.” Stiles groans, twists in position. Doesn’t even register Derek at his side until the wolf is making low grumbling noises, syphoning his pain. “oh my god. Derek. Look.” He twists his arm out of Derek’s grip, making the wolf’s frown, before shoving it back in his face, waving it around. “DEREK! LOOK!” He fans his face with his hands, somehow trying to point out both his human skin and the fact that he can say actual words now. Actual. Words. As in, the ones _everyone_ can understand. Not just useless chittering.

This is excellent.

 

* * *

 

**NOTES**

**Second last chapter! FUCKING FINALLY. I'm not too sure how it's all gonna be once it's all wrapped up and complete. Maybe it'll be a mess, or, maybe it'll be totally AMAZING and fabulous.**

**You can pester me on[Tumblr](http://fox-pause.tumblr.com/). **

**(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧**

**P.S Comments & kudos are fuel for my self-deprecating, romantic self to keep writing. keep 'em coming. ** **I'm also about 2,000k through a new fic. It's gonna be awful.**


	11. Chapter 11

Derek listens as Stiles rambles on and on about anything and everything, from laser tattoo removal to the benefits oil pulling. It’s to be expected, he guesses. Only God knows how Stiles managed to stay sane through it all, only having himself to _really_ talk to. What he didn’t expect, was just how much _he_ would miss the mindless, excited chattering, even the wild gestures he’s surprised haven’t taken anyone’s eye out yet. So he lets Stiles talk himself out, an excited gleam in his eye as he changes topic yet again, this time from how many pull-ups he used to be able to do as a kid to how fast the jeep could actually go if he could finally get the parts he needs for the repairs.

Only once his throat gets dry does he stop talking, coughing small puffs of golden dust into his hand. The teen frowns at the particles and their obnoxious shimmering, worry clouding his scent. That is, until Derek intertwines their fingers together, dust forgotten between their palms.

“I-uh. Thanks.” Stiles smiles shyly, and Derek’ll be dammed if the slight bush creeping across Stiles’ pale skin doesn’t make his heart beat a million miles a minute. He gives Stiles’ bony fingers a gentle squeeze, returning a fond smile of his own, tracing small, delicate circles with a calloused thumb along the back of Stiles’ pale hand. His own cheeks heat up as he picks up the faint, tell-tale traces of arousal in the air, inhaling as it builds tantalizingly slow between them. Without thinking he moves forward, placing a large hand on Stiles’ thigh, earning him a shuddering breath. They lean in, eyes flicking to glistening lips, Stiles smiling slightly, surely about to say something witty, when suddenly it becomes an aborted movement, with Derek falling to the side and Stiles falling flat on his face.

“So-uh. You found Stiles.” Scott says hesitantly, half pissed- half relieved. The older wolf glares at his beta, rolling his eyes at Scott’s protectiveness over his ‘brother’.

Stiles sits up, running a palm down his face to wipe away any remaining dirt, sighing sarcastically “That much was obvious, Scotty boy.” And before he knows it, he has an arm full of Scott –still human, thankfully, scenting up a storm. Derek growls, still feeling a little Stiles-selfish and makes to grab Stiles from the other wolf, only stopped by Stiles’ chastising glare. Scott’s too busy nuzzling Stiles’ neck to notice, but Stiles still appreciates the gesture. “Jesus Christ- Scotty. It’s nice to know you missed me and all, but you’re kinda- you’re squishing me.” Thank god Scott –hesitantly- lets go, sitting back on his heels, looking at Stiles as if he’s going to vanish at any time.

“Dude.” Scott Blinks owlishly. “You’re human. You’re-” He shakes his head, smiling wildly before fixing Stiles with an odd look. “I can’t believe it! Do you know how long you were gone? I mean-come on! Even Jackson was starting to get worried, and he’s a jackass! We- we couldn’t find you, you know? and your dad was starting to get suspicious and, oh my god, you were here the whole time! Why didn’t you tell me? Derek! What the hell man? You knew he was here! You could’ve at least taken him to Deaton-”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? He could’ve helped you get better or change back or whatever It was you needed to do way sooner!”

“Dude.”

“Do you even know how worried we were?! We were going out of out freakin’ minds! Allison was even about to call in all the hunters she knew just to find you! I-I even stopped sleeping because god knows what could’ve happened to you!”

“Scotty, if you just shut up for a second, I’ll explain.” But it’s like Scott doesn’t even hear him, just keeps spouting bullshit about how worried _they_ were. Stiles growls when he gets interrupted again and Derek takes that as his cue, reaching out and slapping Scott, hard, across the face.

Stiles grimaces as the sound reaches his ears, Scott’s stunned silence giving him the perfect platform to tell them exactly what happened to _him_.

He relays the story as best he can, skipping over just how close he and Derek have gotten during his ‘foxy days’ - as he dubs it. He answers any questions they have that he has answers for, reveling in Scott’s shocked expression when he tells him about Deaton’s magic golden powder and his theories about the –so called – veterinarian. Derek rubs his back through the whole ordeal, tracing around the nobs in his back when he gets to a particularly difficult part, waiting patiently when Stiles needs a breather because, hey, this is a long story, and he’s explaining it in _detail,_ in true Stillinski fashion. When he’s finally done, both wolves have gone a little pale.

“So yeah, that’s what happened.” He sighs loudly, leaning into Derek’s shoulder a little further, looking to Scott tiredly. “Can I go home now?”

Scott, of course, nods.

-

Despite Telling Derek that _no, I’m not hurt_ and _I can walk, put me down you heathen._ Derek insists on carrying Stiles back to the main road. Stiles tries to wiggle out of Derek’s hold, but the wolf just holds him tight, not letting him move an inch. Damn werewolf strength.

Stiles couldn’t help but gasp at the sorry sight before him. The once sleek, beautiful

Camaro was now completely and utterly trashed. The doors were caved in, one torn completely from its hinges, not to mention how the hood closely resembled a demolishing site, shards of metal scattered everywhere. The interior didn’t fare much better either. There was still-warm blood cooling on the dash, paired with a deep dent that looks remarkably like a head, while the steering wheel was hanging askew, tilted to the side.

“Jesus Christ. I knew it would be bad, but - fuck. Sorry man.” Derek just shakes Stiles’ apologetic look off. The Camaro doesn’t matter now. “Its fine. We just need to find another way back.”  Mumbling ‘its probably for the better anyway’ under his breath.

“I’ll give Lydia a call. She should be back about now.” Scott says from behind them. Derek nods and sets Stiles back on his feet, offering a steading hand when his knees shake and give a little. Scott calls Lydia, grunting into the speaker and relaying their location before hanging up, tucking his phone safely into his back pocket.

“So… Um. How was living with Derek?” Stiles shrugs, and Scott chances a glance between the two of them, reading something Stiles isn’t sure he’s supposed to be privy to before cocking an eyebrow at Derek. “How did you not kill him? You were basically trapped in a cabin with the most energetic fox to ever fox. No offence Stiles” Stiles scowls at Scott, his iconic ‘what the fuck man’ expression, before returning his gaze back to Derek, waiting expectantly. Derek fidgets, rubbing the back of his neck roughly, huffing out a breath before answering “It wasn’t that bad, really. I. um.” Green eyes flicker to amber and his words dry up in his throat, a lump he can’t swallow. An awkward silence hangs between them, Derek staring at the ground, Stiles suddenly finding the tree line very interesting and Scott, left baffled, head bouncing between them as he waits for an answer before coming to his own conclusion. “Derek’s place isn’t so bad, really.” Stiles is, unsurprisingly, the one to break the silence, poking at a freckle on his arm. “Its really warm and cozy, a lot more spacious than you might think and smells really, really good.” His eyes light up “Like Christmas, all the time.” Stiles looks to Derek, who smiles gently. “And there’s this little ladder you wouldn’t even notice ‘cause the place is so cozy. Seriously, Scott, It feels like home as soon as you step through the door, its amazing. I can’t – oh god. You’re never gonna let me back there, are you?” Derek’ll be damned if the way Stiles’ voice squeaks out the question isn’t the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. He knows he’s blushing when he smiles at Stiles somewhat fondly, a whispered “Only if you want to.” to which Stiles smiles shyly and ducks forward, burying his face in Derek’s shoulder.

When Lydia pulls up Scott is beyond relived, having had enough of Stiles and Derek’s… whatever that was. Basically throwing himself into the front seat, earning an annoyed huff from Lydia, he relays the story to her. Lydia purses her ruby lips, narrowing her eyes on the boys in the backseat. Stiles is exhausted, half sitting- half flopped on Derek’s lap while the wolf loops his hands around his waist, shoving his nose behind Stiles’ ear. “Boys! This car has not yet been christened, and I’d like to keep it that way until I- ahem- can do the honors, so please, keep it strictly pg.” Derek blushes, the tips of his ears turning a deep red while Stiles burrows his way further into Derek’s embrace, mumbling a sleepy uh-huh before he falls asleep.

-

When they finally get Stiles home – thanking all the gods when they realize the Sheriff isn’t home-  Derek is hesitant to leave. Despite Scott’s constant warbling of ‘dude. You’re being a creep’ and ‘hey, don’t pick him up like that’, Derek manages to get Stiles up the stairs and somewhat under the bed covers, Scott following closely at his heels. Scott checks to see if Stiles is even remotely conscious before heading back down the stairs in a huff.

Derek however, stays by Stiles’ side as the teen sleeps, worry tainting his features. He watches as Stiles twitches, unable to stay still. When his eyes begin drooping as well, he slumps back into the desk chair, wincing at it’s loud creaking. His eyelids flutter closed without warning, the last sight they see is Stiles’ mouth agape as he snores loudly before he too joins Stiles in slumber.

When he next opens his eyes, the Sheriff is bending over Stiles, gently brushing brown hair from his face with a soft expression. He seems to have already noticed Derek huddled in the corner, because when he speaks, it’s with a cautious tone. “I want to thank you for taking care of my boy. I’m not sure what Scott thinks he was up to, trying to fool a cop like that, and I’m sure you had some hand in it too, but for now- thank you.” Derek grunts out a raspy ‘your welcome’, but the Sheriff just lifts a hand, already halfway through the door. “Call me John, son.”

Stiles stirs awake, groaning when he tries to sit up in bed. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, seeing stars when he blinks his eyes open “Holy fuck. I feel like I’ve been hit by a friggin’ freight train.” Derek makes his way over, bed dipping beneath his heavy weight and lays a flat palm on the nape of the teen’s neck. Black veins snake their way up his forearm. Stiles watches them go for a moment, before realizing how wrong it feels. Derek’s taken care of him, through all his shenanigans, taking his pain through it all. It just isn’t right for Derek to suffer instead of him.

So, with a shaky hand he gently pries Derek’s wrist from his neck, cradling it safely in his lap instead and winding their fingers together. “you’ve been taking care of me so long, I – I can’t let you take any more pain. It’s mine.” Derek growls, but it sounds more like a wolfish huff so Stiles continues “And. If you’d let me, I want to take care of you for a little while.”

Derek’s still staring at their combined hands when he replies “You have been taking care of me. You organized the food drop-offs and checked in with me every day for weeks. None of the others did that. Nobody _cares_ as much as you do. You were there for Months. And I didn’t even have the gall to open the door. I know you care. I just – I don’t know how to repay you.” Derek abandons his little self-deprecating speech when Stiles sighs, long and hard.

“Derek. We’re idiots.”

“What?”

“Just- will you grab lunch with me sometime?”

Derek sits back, and for a second Stiles thinks he – the fox – has scared off the big bad wolf before Derek’s surging forward, sealing the distance between them with a kiss so tender and sweet, Stiles never needs Hershey’s ever, ever again.

“Of course.”

Stiles barks out a laugh, looping his hands around the wolf’s- his wolf’s neck, guiding them together effortlessly for another kiss, this one longer than the last, only breaking apart for breath, resting his forehead against Derek’s.

“Thank god for that.”

**NOTES**

**FUCKING FINALLY. You guys have been waiting ages for this, so here is your long-awaited finale. (epilogue still pending) On a side note, does anyone know someone who'd be willing to do some art for a fic like this? It doesn't even have to be good, I just really wanna see foxy Stiles.**

**You can pester me on[Tumblr](http://fox-pause.tumblr.com/).  **

**(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧**

**P.S Comments & kudos are fuel for my self-deprecating, romantic self to keep writing. keep 'em coming. **

 


End file.
